Resting over the horizon outside my window was an intricate sunset, the kind that stirred a sense of false happiness in the air. Even the flock of white birds gliding past the newly grown flowers was not enough to shake the gloominess off me.

What caught my attention was hysterical laughter followed by sharp screams that were brought by a group of teenagers coming along the path. Their presence was obnoxious enough to wipe the frown off my face and jolt me away from my thoughts. Not that the longing of my best friend was irrelevant or that nature’s effort was too weak, but the last thing I needed this evening was their input about my obvious insecurities. Teenagers have always been brutal, despite how I presented myself around them. Whether it was my faint scar or my bald spots, they always found a way to form a new insecurity. I, too, have a lot to say about them, but I did not feel the need to. I drifted my attention to a corner of my closet where I saw my worn-out running shoes; they beamed at me as if reading my state of discomfort. Before I knew it, I was 30 minutes in with muscle strain and sticky sweat, challenging my motivation. I pushed past that; running was something I relied on for a sense of relief. It became a skill I used when I was in high school and won multiple races. Sooner rather than later, nostalgia stole my flow state. Flashbacks of time-lapsed moments started flooding my mind, and ironically, my vision blocked out my surroundings. This made room in my mind for the fact that my best friend was gone, not figuratively but literally. Just yesterday we were watching the horizon together, but today she is not with me.

Coping with this would take me longer than anything I have gone through. I took more rigid steps to match the speed of my thoughts. The darkness within me was also showing up over the city as I arrived at a cliff, not too far from the river where her family dumped her ashes. “8 miles, that’s not too bad,” I muttered as I glanced at my watch. Awkward silence settled in, and nobody cheered me on or cared for me. Cheri would have cared.

“Why do all good things have to come to an end?” I muttered as my feet scraped against the damp grass. I wish her ashes could gain life and come back to give me comfort. When I eventually gained a sense of going back, I could not physically get myself to act on it. This raised more frustration as I reached into my pocket and called my grandma to pick me up. As we were talking, hearing her voice and making conversation made me appreciate life in its form, even if it complicates things sometimes. She agrees to pick me up and take me out for dinner since I was too tired to cook. I always cherished her, but not as much as today.

When we finally finished dinner, there were familiar faces at one of the other tables. It was one of the teenagers. Her hair was slicked back with so much gel, and her makeup was smudged. The restaurant’s lighting made her look more of an angel than I had deemed her to be. Something inside me shifted; it was like I was shaken up by her presence. I was hoping that she would not notice me. I mean, why would she? We have never even met. Now I look like a stalker who does not have a life of their own. I nervously left the table where my grandma was sitting and headed for the bathroom. Along my way, my chest felt tight, and I felt suffocated with anxiety. I rushed into an empty stall with a very profound smell. That was the least that worried me. My panic attacks have come back. I just felt increasingly intense just thinking about how they affected my life. I pulled myself together with all my will, and it finally wore off. Nothing was worse than the anticipation for the next one, where it would be and who it would be around. I got out of the stall and stared at my reflection in the mirror; I looked paler. Even though I gaslit myself into believing otherwise, I knew the truth. Oh, I miss Cheri in such moments. She always put in effort to make sure I was okay. I wish I were there for her, even if nothing I could do would help. Seeing her take her last breaths would have given me a proper goodbye and helped me grieve less. As I walked out, I caught sight of the clock on the wall. I did not want to leave my grandma alone for too long, literally anything could happen. When I looked at our table, I could not see anyone. Panic rose within, and I fixed my eyes to see clearly. It was as if I spoke my worries into reality. There she was lying on the ground; no one cared to see or check on her. “Someone, please help,” I screamed. A waiter dressed in a black uniform came over with a concerned expression. “What happened?” She asked. “I have no idea. I was in the bathroom.” With no further questions, she called out for more workers and helped them take off the dirty ground. She later dialed emergency services and held me tight. I could see through her eyes; it was like she had been through this before. “Does she have any health issues?” She asked as he slowly lifted her arm. “Not any that I know of,” I replied. Despite how old she was she never had any complaints about anything out of the ordinary. I could hear and see the ambulance approaching the entrance of the restaurant. The men rushed in and quickly got her on a somewhat sketchy-looking stretcher. The chaos got the attention of the whole restaurant, and it got quiet. I could feel the stares of pity. The anxiety from before rose to the brim, and I tried to sustain myself. The next thing I knew was the face of the waiter from the restaurant, together with some surgical pipes going in and out of my body. I felt stuck as my memory was not getting any better. Suddenly, I jerked my body straight. I remembered something. “Where is she?” I yelled. The waiter calmed me down and reassured me that she was taken care of. “If anything gets worse, please let me know. I would like to be with her.” She nodded with a soft smile that shook something in me. I was getting distracted, but it was working. “You know I had a similar situation not too long ago.” I nodded, hinting at her to keep going. “My grandmother was the only one who had cared about me.” She said, fidgeting with her chain as she looked down. I appreciated her openness, but now wasn’t the time. I rekindled my tears and closed my eyes that were burning with sleep.